


Salvation Is Such A Long Way To Go

by goldandsilver



Category: True Detective
Genre: 1995, M/M, Marty read a book, Rust being protective, well only half through yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2536697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldandsilver/pseuds/goldandsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in 1995, right after they brought the kids out of Ledoux's shed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation Is Such A Long Way To Go

Oh god, what have I done?

People swirled all around them, nobody but Rust heard his words.

Marty's hands were steady with the gun, with the girl, now quivering visibly. Eyes hollow, blueness bleached by blazing sun, transfixed at some point beyond. Rust half turned, watching two stretchers moving into ambulance, one wholly covered by blanket.

I fucked up. Rust, I fucked up. Voice fluttered, barely above a whisper.

Rust turned around just in time to catch Marty before he hit the ground. Body reacted faster than mind, his arms already wrapped around Marty's waist, with the other man sagging, weighing both down. Pairs of knees dropped to dirt road, tangled. Rust clutched the back of that ridiculous Pink Floyd t-shirt. Marty leant on him, face upon his shoulder. He was totally out. What had been wound too tightly finally snapped. Understandable. Rust eased him down to lying position.

Gasps. People started to circle. Medical crews pushed through. Rust allowed them to probe and check, yet firmly refused to let go.

_Can't expose Marty to the danger of being cornered by some internal goons for "suspicious circumstances" at most vulnerable moment: just waken and alone in ward. Can't afford to. Will not. We wade this muddy water together._

 

Nope, mister. Detective Hart hadn't been hurt by suspects, not a bit. Saw the whole thing. Mere exhaustion. Overnight stake-out, no food nor drink in long hours. Big case closure. A nerve thing. Yes, mister. I will personally drive him home etc etc etc. Yes yes yes.

His eyes blood-shot, pulse erratic, voice dead calm. Finally, they gave Marty one shot or two. Ambulance wailed off. Rust fished out keys for a deputy. Bring sedan to CID. Yessir. He waved off helping hands, cradle carried Marty to pickup by himself. Stark contrast to previous one. Boy: shrinked to none. Dark hair, decaying skin. Marty: solid, warm. Capable of igniting brilliant orange hues. Made Rust feel needed. Had thought he may dread this feeling. He did not.

Slumped on passenger seat, Marty seemed alright, peaceful. Face surprisingly boyish for a man pushing 40. Messy hair made him look younger. Dust on cheeks smeared by sweat. Or was that tears. Rust noticed them fair eyelashes for the first time.

Some guys wolf-whistled. Hey, Prince, ya gonna kiss sleeping beauty awake? Rust ignored them. 

 

 

He kept thinking about those minutes while he faking evidence outside and trekking back through mini-jungle to call in, Marty was alone inside, first kill fresh in hand, bits of human brain clinging on pants, guarding the dead and the damaged, with who knows how many dead children's ghosts lingering around.

Rust would like to think himself reaching for the boy forwardly as a favor to Marty. Spare him the experience which he already had and Marty had none. Fact was, maybe he did it for himself. More unbearable than memories of a dead daughter: a living one.

Holding Marty reminded him neither.

 

  
* * * * * * * * *

 

  
Evening was nigh. Lights behind windows made the house look like a home more than ever.

Rust walked in, saw pizza box and beer can on kitchen counter. Marty was up, washed and changed: white cotton shirt, wrinkled boxers, barefoot, not a trace of this morning. Good ol' Marty mended his persona quickly.

 

Your car is at station. I'll "pick you up en route" tomorrow. Rust announced as if nothing happened. Colleagues didn't know Marty had been kicked out by Maggie.

Shit, the book.

What book.

The book I been reading these days. Only half through. Left it in the car. Great, now the suspense is killing me.

Are you saying that you borrowed one of mine...?

Yep. Forgot to tell you, sorry. Took me hours to find a readable one from your junk. Actually, this Nietzsche dude writes some good verses, not so boring as you make him sound to be. Appreciate your side notes though.

Rust was speechless.

Mind you, I do read. Marty smirked. I just disdain those smartasses quoting highbrow shit to impress girls. No offence.

None taken. What you prefer to impress chicks?

Melville, Hemingway and Joseph Conrad. Women find roaring sea romantic, I dig good characterization. It's a win-win.

Rust couldn't help but chuckled.

Marty's eyes widened. Marty is beaming. Holy moly, wish we had this conversation earlier, might be able to have you over for dinner within 3 weeks not months, save me a lot of naggings from Maggie.

Rust cleared his throat. He steered Marty towards folding chairs, hand pressed lightly on his back. Forget Nietzsche, had choke full of him today. Need our own story now. Gotta be careful about this. Real careful.

No response. Marty's face falled. A beat later, he spoke, almost meekly.

I owe you one.

It's okay, Marty. It will be okay.

His own voice soft and low. He could feel Crash retreating and Cohle gaining. Marty was close. Rust felt right.

**Author's Note:**

> I've deep feelings for Marty Hart in Ep4-5, yet surprisingly few fics dealt with this aftermath, I decide to exploit it a little. Don't believe in them fucking any time sooner than 2012 in canon realm, neither one would take advantage of the other, ever. So, bear with me if there is nothing much here. 
> 
> I cound not come up with a proper title. Picked some random song title. Y'all can ignore it, doesn't make sense.


End file.
